Cracked
by timydamonkey
Summary: One-shot. Cloud isn't sure whether he's seeing things or whether there's some bizarre meaning behind it all. There has to be some reason for the feeling of déjà vu.


Cracked:

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Disclaimer: I don't own FF7; I believe it's owned by Square Enix (I keep typing Squaresoft)… 

Author's Notes: I'm not entirely sure what inspired this. I think I just have a thing with mirrors. Sorry, it's a bit bizarre. My first stray into the FF7 fandom (I'm always worried I'm going to muck up the dynamic of the world…), so reviews are much appreciated.

This is, probably obviously, set before Cloud realises who he is and that he isn't Zack.

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Sometimes, Cloud worried. 

They were busy chasing after Sephiroth, and for the most part, he'd been utterly focused on it. He wasn't even sure what was drawing him to follow the man, but he wasn't going to question it. It was just… right, somehow.

Even with that purpose in mind, though, there were slow times – waiting for transport, sometimes, or just in the evenings, when they had to rest. It irked him, as although he knew that they all needed to rest, they were falling further behind. And it gave him time to think.

He thought too much. He thought he was somehow going crazy, seeing things that weren't there. He supposed that going crazy was somehow due, though he had no idea why he thought that. Logic was at odds with what he felt, what he thought, what he _saw_ far too often these days.

Once he'd grasped onto a sink (cracked and looking worse-for-wear, but functioning) and stared in the grimy mirror. Cloud wasn't a particularly vain person, he'd just been thinking about how serious things were getting. Serious to an extent that nobody should have to deal with.

He'd got a shock when he stared into that mirror. For a moment – just a single fleeting moment – he wasn't looking at himself. It was a man with black spiky hair, slightly tamer than his own, with violet eyes and a fleeting grin. It was only there for a moment, and then he saw himself, staring far too intently at the mirror.

He felt haunted. A horrible feeling of déjà vu was creeping up on him, and his thoughts seemed to be screaming: _I know you!_

But he didn't. He couldn't even find a name. Just another man.

He supposed the immediate concern shouldn't even have been whether or not he knew the fellow. He'd been there for what felt like an age, when Cloud stared, but was probably a fraction of a second. He had a terrible feeling it could just be in his head – reflections don't just _change_, after all, and he had been the figure who had changed… and he certainly hadn't felt any different. Whether or not he had seen anything in the first place, whether or not he was fabricating a person or simply too tired to be entirely lucid, he didn't know. Whether he'd finally cracked, he didn't want to know.

It disconcerted him. He felt he should probably just dismiss it, but something seemed to be holding it in his memory: hey, this is important.

But he could see nothing beyond the face of a stranger.

He blinked, turned the tap on, poured water over his face. He figured he probably was beginning to lose it – the pressure of everything catching up with everything.

"Cloud!" a voice called. Tifa, he thought. He turned the tap back off and stared at his hands for a moment, then wiped them on his trousers, turned to the door.

"Cl-" The voice had begun again, but he'd opened the door and strode through. "Oh," the perpetrator said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Cloud said, stalking away. Given the sigh of exasperation, they'd obviously taken it as his normal attitude. That was good, he supposed. It saved an explanation he couldn't understand himself.

But he wasn't fine. Not really. He was curious; he wanted to know where the image had come from. He didn't think he'd rest properly until he found out.

It wasn't until after he remembered, after what felt like everything, that he remembered the figure and by then he could put a name to it. He felt slightly sickened that he'd ever forgotten – he felt like the traitor to the promise of a dying man. If the person with him for so long hadn't even remembered him, then who else would?

He remembered now, though. The man was his best friend. _Zack_.

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Author's Note: I will confess, I'm not particulary enamoured with this piece. I don't think it's up to my normal standard (or at least, I'd like to think I have a standard). I think it was largely written because I need to do my exams before I replay FF7, and I can't write _Identity Crisis_ until I replay FF7... and possibly get a PSP and play _Crisis Core_. Basically, that's going to take a while and I really wanted to write something and this is the (rather half-baked) result. But eh, whatever. People may like it. 

Anyway: reviews very welcome.


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